


in the bleak midwinter

by segmentcalled



Series: if so, come on, let's go [2]
Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Airports, Alcohol, Anal Sex, Candlenights, Christmas, Dorks in Love, Epistolary, Established Relationship, Fluff, Holidays, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Confessions, M/M, Meet the Family, New Year's Eve, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22246219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: Griffin is waiting for Pat alone at the airport, without any additional family members that Pat can see from his angle of approach. Griffin’s slouching, one hand shoved into the pocket of his hoodie, the other holding his phone, and he is staring off in the wrong direction, ostensibly looking for Pat.Pat feels himself smile at the sight of him, and picks up his pace. Griffin turns as Pat approaches, and his entire expression transforms into pure delight at the sight of him.
Relationships: Patrick Gill/Griffin McElroy
Series: if so, come on, let's go [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1414123
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30





	in the bleak midwinter

**Author's Note:**

> title from _[in the bleak midwinter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HoVYo-YxS44)_ by holst
> 
> thank you as always to the wonderful justtheplanets for betaing this for me!!!!! ♥♥

Griffin is waiting for Pat alone at the airport, without any additional family members that Pat can see from his angle of approach. Griffin’s slouching, one hand shoved into the pocket of his hoodie, the other holding his phone, and he is staring off in the wrong direction, ostensibly looking for Pat.

Pat feels himself smile at the sight of him, and picks up his pace. Griffin turns as Pat approaches, and his entire expression transforms into pure delight at the sight of him.

Their greeting is essentially an enthusiastic collision; they grab each other into a tight hug, saying their hellos into each other’s shoulders, and then Griffin lifts his head to entice Pat into a fierce excited kiss.

Pat is flushed pink and grinning as he pulls away. “Is it just you here?” he says.

“Yep! No one wanted to witness me smoochin’ on my boyfriend after seeing him for the first time since September.” Griffin rolls his eyes. He’s smiling. “Also everyone’s been running back and forth to the airport all week and they’re sick of it. Let’s get your bag, shall we?”

Griffin lets go of Pat, but not fully; he trails his hand down Pat’s arm to take his hand. Pat squeezes his hand and bumps shoulders with him. “Missed you,” says Pat.

“Missed you too, baby.” Griffin kisses Pat’s cheek. “How was your flight?”

“Good, actually. The person next to me slept the whole time and I didn’t have to say even one word of awkward small talk, which is pretty much the ideal. Caught up on some nerds’ podcast,” Pat says, grinning at him.

“_God_ I say some dumb shit on there.”

“You’re the one who edits it! You could theoretically take it out if you wanted to.”

“You got me there,” Griffin says, swinging their joined hands as they make their way towards the baggage claim.

“It was good. You know I love listening to you,” Pat says.

“Thank god, someone who doesn’t mind that I never shut up!” Griffin says. “This is why I like you.”

“I would hope it’s more than just that.”

“Mm, you’ve got a good ass, too.”

“_Griffin!”_ Pat says, in mock-despair, but he can’t keep from laughing.

In an unusual and surprising change of pace from Pat’s usual travel experience, they barely have to wait ten minutes for Pat’s bag to appear. They spend the meantime with Griffin’s arms around Pat’s waist, Pat’s arms around Griffin, standing together and holding each other until the carousel thingy starts moving and Pat’s bag appears.

Griffin, a true gentleman, offers to take the bag for Pat — “If you were _really_ being chivalrous, you’d take the backpack that weighs a zillion pounds, not the bag with _wheels_,” is Pat’s very grateful response — and takes Pat by the hand again to escort him to the parking lot.

Griffin flew in, too, the day before, so he’s borrowed Justin’s car. Griffin leans over once they’re seated to kiss Pat over the armrest, and, well, if Griffin doesn’t care about making out in a car that doesn’t belong to him, Pat doesn’t either. So he cups Griffin’s face in his hands and kisses him back with all nearly-four-months’ worth of longing.

It’s not, like, comfortable to kiss someone while you’re in the front seat of a car, because no matter what you’re twisted around and leaning over the gap between the seats and someone probably has an armrest digging into their rib cage. It’s more than worth it, though, for Griffin’s breathy sighs and the way he laces his hands into Pat’s hair. Griffin pulls back giggling triumphantly when he gets Pat to moan against his lips. Pat huffs an embarrassed-flustered sigh and pouts until Griffin pats his cheek.

“We’ll have time later, promise,” Griffin says.

“We’re staying with your _brother_.”

“And we’re also in his car right now as we speak! Honestly, Trav has it worse, staying with Dad. And besides! I have it on good authority that they’re gonna be at Syd’s mom’s tonight, because Justin is a fucking _saint_.”

“What, did he plan that on purpose?”

“He might’ve! He made it sound like he did, but he could’ve been embellishing for brownie points. Either way, I’m all yours tonight, babe,” Griffin says. He steals another kiss, then sits properly in his seat and buckles his seatbelt. “Like, they’ll be there when we get there, but I think they’re leaving at five or something.”

“Nice,” Pat says, and Griffin laughs. “What!”

“You’re cute,” Griffin says. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

Justin gives Pat one of those big genuine smiles when he sees him, which is unexpected, and hugs him, which is even _more_ unexpected, and Griffin laughs at the face Pat must make over Justin’s shoulder. Pat’s never, like, _not_ gotten along with Justin, but they haven’t interacted a ton on the whole, and sometimes older siblings are protective of the younger ones and are suspicious of the people they date, and anyway the point is he was honestly not anticipating to be met as such a welcomed guest. Figured he would be something closer to just tolerated, like Griffin’s plus-one who everyone is polite to but no more than that.

But Justin talks to Pat as warmly as he does to Griffin, asks him about his flight and how he’s been and how things are in New York. He feels a little silly for being surprised, now, because even in Pat’s limited personal experience with non-Griffin McElroys, they’re all so goddamn kind it’s unreal.

Pat is introduced to Sydnee and Charlie, and even if Sydnee is a little frazzled by trying to get an unenthused Charlie into a sweater, she still spares a genuine smile for Pat and says she’s happy to meet him, that she’s heard so much about him — Griffin makes a face, and Sydnee laughs — and that she’s glad he’s able to be here, and then her attention is reclaimed by Charlie. Griffin makes the executive decision to point Pat in the direction of their room so he can put his things down and get out of the way of parenting, which is more than amicable to Pat.

“I think we’re gonna be staying over?” Justin is saying to Griffin, when Pat wanders back downstairs again. “So don’t, like, wait up or anything.”

“Uh-_huh_,” is what Griffin says to that, raising his eyebrows at Pat over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip of water. Justin sighs with all the exasperation of an older sibling who _does not want to know_, as he shrugs his coat on.

“Don’t lock yourselves out,” Justin says as a farewell. Griffin says _don’t count on it!_ and Justin pointedly closes the front door behind himself.

And then it’s just Griffin, and just Pat, and they look at each other in the sudden silence for a beat, before Griffin launches himself at Pat.

Pat staggers backwards a half-step from the force of the kiss, but steadies himself and wraps his arms tight around Griffin. Griffin herds Pat back against the wall, braces his arms on either side of Pat’s head and kisses up at him, fervent, like he’s trying to make up for every moment that he couldn’t kiss him all at once.

“Jesus, Griffin,” Pat finally gasps, “can we get upstairs first?”

Griffin drops his head against Pat’s shoulder to laugh, and Pat rubs his fingers over the short hairs at the nape of Griffin’s neck. He’s so _alive_, Griffin is, so vibrant and enthusiastic and so much _himself_, not afraid to grin at Pat all smug and lead him up the stairs by the wrist, to shut the bedroom door so he can push Pat against it.

“This better?” Griffin says. Pat laughs, and Griffin kisses the smile right off his lips. “Hey. What’re you cool with,” Griffin says against his mouth.

“God — just about anything, babe, seriously, make good on the shit we’ve Skyped about, fuck,” Pat says, and so Griffin takes the opportunity to pull Pat’s head back by his hair and fasten his mouth to his neck, to unabashedly palm Pat through his jeans. Pat moans and leans his hips into the touch, as Griffin fumbles with the buttons of Pat’s shirt one-handed, baring skin to suck bruises where he can keep them private.

“I think,” Griffin says, “I wanna suck your dick, and then lay you out on that bed over there and fuck you _so_ right. I wanna make you feel good, baby. What do you think?”

“_Please_,” Pat gasps, and he feels Griffin smile against his neck. Instead of going to his knees right away, though, as Pat had half-expected, he comes back to kiss him again, greedily and enthusiastically, like he can’t stand to not have his mouth against Pat’s for very long at all.

Griffin takes his time undressing Pat, indulgent in it. He doesn’t break the kiss as he finishes unbuttoning Pat’s shirt and drags his hands down Pat’s exposed torso, chest and ribs and belly and back up. He undoes Pat’s fly and slides his hands into his pants, over his hips and ass, gets two good handfuls to grab and pull Pat against him.

Only once he’s pushed Pat’s shirt off his shoulders and Pat has stepped out of his pants does Griffin take pause, and even that is only to pull his own shirt off over his head before he pulls Pat back in again. Pat barely has a chance to look at him, but god, being pressed skin-to-skin against Griffin wrenches a needy little sound out of Pat.

Griffin grabs Pat by the hair, which gets another of those sounds out of him, and presses hot kisses down his jaw, the side of his neck, and then he does finally do what Pat expected; he drops to his knees and pushes Pat harder against the door by his hips. He leans forward and with no preamble takes Pat’s cock into his mouth, far as it’ll go. Pat moans, his eyes fluttering shut, but he wrenches them back open quickly to look at Griffin, not wanting to miss a thing.

Griffin pulls back to grin at Pat, then sinks his mouth down on him again. Pat gasps and digs his nails into his palms. It’s so good, too good, to have someone else touching him, to have that someone else be _Griffin_, with his steady gentle hands and the wet heat of his mouth and, _fuck_, Pat had — well, he hadn’t _forgotten_ how fucking amazing Griffin is, but his imagination pales in comparison to this, to the real Griffin, alight with earnest enthusiasm and tenderness and heat and pressure and lips and tongue and —

Pat’s thighs are shaking when Griffin pulls away again; Pat whines at the loss of touch. He’s panting openmouthed as he stares down at Griffin, and Griffin, smiling away like it’s nothing at all, like he hasn’t just fully scrambled Pat’s brains, wraps his hand around Pat’s wrist and pulls himself to his feet.

“C’mon,” Griffin says, and tugs Pat towards the bed. Pat goes easily, and lets Griffin fuckin’ pounce on him as soon as he gets his legs up on the bed. Pat sprawls onto his back with an _oof_, and Griffin presses giggling kisses to Pat wherever he can reach. Pat tugs him in for a real kiss, and Griffin slings his leg over Pat to straddle his thighs.

“So like,” Griffin says.

“Wait,” Pat says, and Griffin goes very still. Pat reaches for him. “Before you — I wanna — can I?”

“Hm?” A beat; Pat can practically hear it click when Griffin unravels the query, between where Pat’s hand has paused and the significant look Pat is giving him. “Oh! Yes, absolutely, baby.”

Pat pushes himself into a sort of sitting position, propped up against the pillows, and Griffin moves closer, kneeling over him. He puts a hand on the small of Griffin’s back, and leans in and licks his cock into his mouth. He moans outright to have the weight of him on his tongue.

“_Lord_, Patrick,” Griffin grits out.

Pat pulls off, breathless, and says in a rush, “I — I’ve wanted to do this since — fuck, Griffin, I see you but I can’t _touch_ you, and, and, I just — I want you in me,” and with that, he grabs Griffin by the hips and tugs him forward. Griffin whines, nearly losing his balance, catches himself by bracing his hands on the top of the headboard, and as he steadies himself Pat wraps his arm around Griffin’s back and slides his mouth down on him again.

Griffin hisses out a string of curses as Pat wraps his hand around the base of his cock, hips twitching, but Pat tries to keep him still, works his mouth and hand on him until —

“Pat — Jesus — _Patrick_,” Griffin pants, “baby, I’m gonna come if you — you gotta stop —” and Pat jerks away as soon as the word _stop_ passes Griffin’s lips. He looks up at Griffin, who is looking at Pat, face flushed all the way down to his chest, his hands clenched tight on the headboard, his chest heaving as he gasps for breath.

Pat gives a sheepish smile and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, as Griffin moves away.

“Christ,” Griffin says, “you’re _good_ at that.”

“I wanna make you come down my throat,” Pat says, and isn’t really sure exactly how he has developed the brazenness required to say these things except, well, apparently his growing confidence with Skype sex has translated into real life, too. Griffin stares at him with an expression that Pat would probably classify as _surprised and horny_, and Pat grins at him, sly as he can manage.

“Oh-_kay_,” Griffin breathes. “We are _so_ making that happen. But later,” he says, and scrambles off the bed for his suitcase as Pat laughs. “Look, we’ve got the house to ourselves and fuckin’ _no one_ to overhear. It’s a _house_. We don’t have to worry about neighbors sharing a wall. Like, are you kidding? Of course I’m gonna fuck you. I wanna hear all the gorgeous sounds you can make, baby.”

Pat writhes under Griffin’s deliberate touch, as he works him open _slo-o-o-owly_ with his fingers, as he leans over Pat and drops kisses on his bare skin. He has a hand splayed on Pat’s belly, keeping him from arching up off the bed; Pat digs his feet into the mattress and whines wordless need.

“Uh-uh, baby. I know how you love this and I know you won’t do it on your own, so I’m gonna give it to you just like you want it,” Griffin says, and Pat groans and rolls his hips in tandem with Griffin’s hand. Griffin presses down with the heel of his other hand and Pat settles, with effort.

“How long before you’re begging, d’you think?” Griffin muses.

“God, Griffin, _please_ don’t make me beg,” Pat says, his voice thready, breathless. “Later, yeah, for sure, absolutely. But right now I just — fuck, Griffin, I just _want_ you.”

Griffin goes _oh_ very softly, before leaning down to press a kiss to Pat’s forehead.

“Well then, baby, let me go wash my hands, and then I’m gonna give you everything your sweet little heart desires,” Griffin says, and Pat steals another quick kiss before Griffin whisks away.

He doesn’t waste time when he returns. Griffin’s hands are shaking a little, as he fumbles with the condom, and Pat stops him with a light hand on his wrist.

“You okay?” Pat says softly. 

“Yeah — yeah, I’m totally good,” Griffin says. He gives a short, embarrassed laugh. “I’m just real excited, that’s all. I, uh. Shit, Patrick, I missed you a whole lot.”

“I missed you too,” Pat says, and pulls Griffin down to press their lips together, gentle and sweet.

And then, god, _god_, Griffin takes him apart.

He keeps kissing Pat as he slides into him, tasting the desperate needy sounds Pat makes; Pat wraps his legs around him as he bottoms out, whimpering on every exhale from how impossibly good it feels to have Griffin’s cock inside him. They’ve done this a sum total of once, and Pat has been dying for a repeat ever since September.

“Baby, look at you,” Griffin murmurs, between kisses. “You look so good like this. So open for me. So beautiful. Oh, Patrick, _sweetheart_, you’re perfect.” He presses his hand flat-palmed beneath Pat’s sternum, to feel the rise and fall of Pat’s breathing.

“Feels so good,” Pat manages, before his breath catches on a moan when Griffin’s cock gets him so right. “God, _Griffin_, missed you so bad, you’re — _god_ — you’re so good to me.”

“You deserve it,” Griffin says, kissing indiscriminately over Pat’s jaw and neck and chest. “Who gave you the right to look so goddamn good?”

“Grif-_fin_.”

“Pat-_rick_,” Griffin says back, imitating Pat’s tone. He snaps his hips forward and Pat’s head drops back as he whines. “Jeez, you never sound like this for me when we call.”

“That’s a — a — a fuckin’ lie, but — it’s just, it’s just easier to — when you’re here, it feels like I’m not performing so much. ‘Cause you’re touching me. Making me make those sounds.”

“So beautiful,” Griffin murmurs, pressing a featherlight kiss to Pat’s jaw. “I wanna see how slow I can take it. Wanna take my time with you, baby.”

Pat gives an approving hum and Griffin moves back to kiss his lips, over and over, sweet and lingering even with Pat breathing hard, kissing back sloppy and uncoordinated.

“Feel good?” Griffin says, reaching between the two of them to stroke his fingers over Pat’s cock, enough to make a full-body shudder run through Pat. Griffin gives a little exhale of a laugh and wraps his index finger and thumb around him, slowly drags up the length of his cock and back and again and again and again until Pat’s thighs are shaking, his whole body trembling, with the effort of keeping himself together.

“Griffin,” Pat gasps, strangled.

“Mm,” is Griffin’s helpful reply, and he squeezes his hand around him and Pat’s hips jerk and the motion makes Griffin’s cock press up into him _just right_ and Pat sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth as he does it once, twice more, and before he even manages to bite out a warning he bucks up into Griffin’s fist one last time and gives a sort of dry sob as he comes, his eyes squeezed shut.

Griffin’s response is a surprised little _oh!_, but he rolls with it, works his hand on Pat’s cock until Pat lets out a little whimper that unquestionably means _stop_.

Pat opens his mouth to apologize, as he blinks his eyes open to look at Griffin, but Griffin speaks first.

“God, you’re perfect,” Griffin says, tracing his fingers down Pat’s torso.

“I didn’t mean t —” Pat starts, but Griffin leans down — quick, but careful as anything — to kiss Pat’s cheek.

“Nope, I’m not hearing it! You’re perfect, I told you.

“‘S just — I know you had plans —”

“So?” Griffin says. He moves away carefully, pulls out as Pat grits his teeth against a whine, oversensitive. “Not like we can’t circle back to that sometime. Are you — uh. Are you done? Do you want me to go, like — um.”

“No, stay here. I just, I need, gimme a sec, okay?”

“Of course,” Griffin says, and moves to sit gingerly next to Pat. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Pat says, rolling over to push his face against Griffin’s leg.

“Are you embarrassed? ‘Cause there’s no need to be, really, I promise.”

“Kinda. I just — y’know. It’s a little overwhelming to be in the same place as you. In a good way, I promise. Just, uh, got a little — well. Overwhelmed.”

“I gotchu. Don’t even worry, baby. Besides, it’s real good for my ego,” Griffin says, grinning.

“Oh, god, as if that needs any more help,” Pat says, affecting a grouch, but he can’t keep from smiling as he looks back up at Griffin. “Cocky motherfucker.”

“You know it,” Griffin says, with a wink and a little wiggle of his hips that makes Pat groan and cover his face with his hands.

“You’re such a fuckin’ dork. I love you so damn much.”

There is a beat of silence that stretches out long enough for Pat to realize —

“I can’t _believe_ you chose right now to say that!” Griffin crows, and Pat sighs deeply and glares at him through his fingers. Griffin leans down to kiss Pat’s head. “I love you too. Dork.”

“Wow. Romantic.”

“Says _you!”_

Pat drags his hands down his face and blinks up at Griffin, whose face is flushed pink and who is smiling fit to outshine the sun. Who Pat loves more than anything else in the whole goddamn world. “Sometimes you just gotta say it. Perfect timing’s fake. I love you. That’s the facts. And also, another fact is that I want to take a shower, like, so bad. And fact three is that if you come with me I might suck your dick.”

“Is a ‘might’ statement a fact?”

“I dunno, come with me and you’ll see!”

“You drive a hard bargain, babe,” Griffin says, and Pat sits up to kiss him, even though they’re both smiling too hard to really be kissed, and instead whisper excited little _I love you_s against each other’s mouths until Griffin finally takes the initiative to herd them both into the shower. He grabs Pat’s ribs to tickle him, and Pat jumps away with a yelp. He chases Pat into the bathroom, where they both skid to a halt, giggling breathlessly.

Pat is so in love with this man he can hardly stand it.

He leans in to kiss Griffin, hoping he can silently convey the depth of his feelings, and how overwhelmingly happy he is that Griffin feels the same.

From the way Griffin melts into the kiss, abandoning his mischief entirely to kiss Pat back sweet as anything, Pat is pretty sure he understands.

* * *

Pat has been to a grand total of one live show for any of Griffin’s podcasts, and it was years ago. Long before he knew Griffin in person. And it certainly wasn’t the Candlenights one.

Everyone is in a state of holiday-themed chaos. Griffin flung all his clothes out of his suitcase while trying to find — actually, Pat’s not even sure what he was trying to find, but it apparently did not turn up in the hunt. He keeps darting around the house, pausing only to drop a kiss on Pat’s lips whenever their paths cross. They meet up in the kitchen, where Pat is currently trying to keep from being underfoot, and is left a little dazed as Griffin skids off again.

Sydnee laughs, and Pat turns, feeling his face heat up. “They’re always like this,” she says. “Don’t even worry. Live shows stress everyone out.”

“God, I bet,” Pat says. “I’d be scared as shit to perform in front of an audience like that.”

Griffin does, in fact, seem scared as shit. He holds Pat’s hand in a vice grip in the car, and walking up to the theatre, and inside, and backstage, and then has to let go of Pat to do a bunch more running around until everything suddenly comes to a screeching halt five minutes before they start.

Pat wraps Griffin in his arms and hugs him tight through the announcements. He can feel him trembling. He knows Griffin’s always incredibly anxious before and during shows — man, who doesn’t know that — but he’s never seen it in person. Griffin claims it’s gotten easier since they first started, but jeez. He presses his lips to Griffin’s hairline and holds him close all through _Sawbones_, and gives him a kiss for luck before he has to let go and let Griffin go onstage.

“You’re gonna be amazing,” Pat whispers, and squeezes Griffin’s hand before he walks away.

When Griffin returns backstage, he’s flushed pink and grinning and, also, drunk as fuck. All par for the course, but it’s wild to be able to have Griffin drape himself all over Pat, his body like a brand of fire against his, sweaty and shaky and jittery and words slurring a little and pressing his face hard into Pat’s neck like he could bury himself against him.

Pat never dreamed this would be his life. It’s surreal. It’s _amazing_.

Pat holds him close and rubs his back, whispering praise into his ear, feeling tension uncoil from Griffin the longer he’s in Pat’s arms.

The party splits; Justin and Sydnee have to take their daughter home, and Syd’s parents and Clint are about done for the night, but everyone else is still raring to go and half of them haven’t even had dinner, and Griffin’s still fired-up from performance adrenaline, so they let themselves get swept up with Travis and Teresa and some friends of theirs that Pat doesn’t know.

But Griffin fades fast, his night catching up with him, too far from sober to keep drinking — not that that stopped him from a shot or two when they first got here, which was, in retrospect, a bad idea — and Pat’s not really in the mood to even really dip his toe into tipsy, so it’s not long at all before they’re making their excuses and ducking out. Griffin leans into Pat’s shoulder on the ride back to Justin’s, his eyes closed, and Pat strokes Griffin’s hair.

“You okay?” Pat murmurs as he helps Griffin out of the car. He’s unsteady on his feet and it takes Pat to keep him upright and make sure he doesn’t slip on the ice as they make their way to the door. “I didn’t think you were, uh, this far gone, I would’ve just had us go straight back —”

“No, ‘s good, ‘s good,” Griffin says, holding tight to Pat’s waist as Pat fishes in his coat pocket for the borrowed house key. “I didn’t realize too. Not ‘til I stood up. Thank you,” he says, as Pat lets them inside and takes Griffin’s coat.

“Let’s get some water in you, yeah?”

“I have to pee already, though,” Griffin whines, and Pat can’t help the snort-laugh that bursts out of him.

“Them’s the breaks, babe, sorry,” Pat says, as he leads him to the kitchen.

“I’m gonna go do that. B-R-B,” Griffin says, and veers off down the hall. Pat watches him walk away, endlessly and overwhelmingly fond.

He gets two glasses of water and leans against the counter to wait for Griffin, pulls out his phone to scroll through Twitter in the meantime. His phone buzzes with a text from Travis, moments later.

It’s a picture from the bar of him and Griffin, of Pat laughing and Griffin leaning in towards him, beaming.

They both look so _happy_.

Travis  
  
Thought you might like this :) Glad you were there tonight!! It was fun, I hope you enjoyed yourself!!  
  


Pat feels warm all the way through, and can’t even find it in himself to be too fazed when he gets a less-than-happy text from his boyfriend.

Griffin  
  
Im dying jsyk  
  
Um??????  
  
U can go to bed i am currently sick af  
  
Shiudl not have tone shots  
  
I’ll be ok tho don’t worry  
  
Do you want me to bring you some water or anything  
  
If u don’t mjnd  
  
Pls don’t hang around thouhb i hate to bhe around ppl when this happens  
  
Promise m good i’ll be ok don’t worry k  
  
I will do my best not do worry ♥  
  
To*  
  
Omw with some water  
  
At least there’s a doctor in the house if you weren’t okay lol  
  
Lol tru  
  
I’ll shower befor ei get in bed i promise  
  
Very considerate of you  
  
Need anything else before I go to sleep?  
  
No im ok  
  
Thabk you bby i love you you’re a sueprehero  
  
I love you too. Feel better soon and I’ll hold you when you come back if you want me to <3 or if you want to not be touched I’ll stick to my side of the bed. I’ll be here for you either way.  
  
<33333333443333343332  
  
I’m gonna sleep now. Good night baby I love you so much xo  
  
I love you so much pray 4’e  
  
LOL will do :kissing_heart: :prayerhands:  
  


Griffin is dead asleep next to Pat when he wakes up, and Pat stays as close to perfectly still as he can so as not to disturb him. Griffin had apparently kept texting after Pat was asleep, mostly inane random shit that got even less coherent as he got tired, featuring plenty of assurances that he was staying hydrated. His last text is a triumphant typo-laden proclamation that he managed to shower. Fuckin’ cutie. Pat loves him desperately.

Justin  
  
Is Griff ok?  
  
I think so. He’s asleep rn  
  
That’s good. I ran into him while he was making his way upstairs and he looked like dogshit  
  
Rude  
  
Ok but i’m not wrong  
  
Keep your opinions to yourself  
  
Lol  
  
Well if you want food we’re making breakfast so if you can sneak out without disturbing him come on down  
  
We’re hosting christmas eve here and people are probably gonna start getting here around 2-3 jsyk  
  
Ty for the heads up. I will try to stealth my way out of here without waking griffin lol  
  
Good luck  
  


* * *

Pat doesn’t have a big family. Pat _especially_ doesn’t have a big family that does get-togethers on any sort of regular basis.

Which means that Christmas Eve shenanigans with the extended McElroy brood is an absolutely terrifying concept.

Griffin recovers fairly gracefully, once he’s got some food in him, even if he’s a little more subdued than usual. He’s snuggly, though, so he must be feeling better. He keeps sneaking up behind Pat to wrap his arms around him and hug him tight, getting thoroughly in the way of Pat trying to help with preparations.

“You’re a _guest_,” Griffin says. “You don’t gotta help do stuff!”

“‘Course I do. I’m not a dick,” Pat says. “I don’t mind,” he adds at Griffin’s incredulous look. “I like to help.”

“Fuckin’ nuts,” Griffin mumbles, “making me look bad.” Pat laughs and pulls Griffin in to kiss his head, and Griffin stays there, his arms going around Pat’s waist as he leans his head on Pat’s shoulder.

“You okay?” Pat murmurs into his hair.

“Yeah. Just tired. Don’t worry ‘bout me,” he says, and looks up at Pat with a faint but genuine smile. “Thanks for putting up with me last night. Didn’t mean to get so carried away.”

“Aw, Griffin, it’s totally fine. Did you at least have an okay time?”

“I did!” Griffin says emphatically. “It was fun. I don’t, uh, I don’t remember much of the later parts until after we got home, but from the pictures Travis sent me it looks like I was having a good time.”

“Wait, he sent you pictures, plural? I only got one!”

“Ooh, I’ll send you the rest,” Griffin says. His hands go to his pockets, then he gives a disgruntled _hm_. “I left my phone somewhere. I’ll send them when I find it.” He nuzzles back against Pat’s shoulder. “Sorry for such a shitty ending to the night, though.”

“I’m just glad you’re feeling better now,” Pat says, hugging him tighter.

“I am. Guess sometimes you gotta overdo it to remember why you shouldn’t?” Griffin says, sheepish.

“We’ve all been there,” Pat reassures him. “I’m not upset or anything, just so long as you’re alright.”

Griffin gives a relieved sort of sigh and presses closer against Pat, his hands sliding down Pat’s back and into his back pockets, right there in the goddamn kitchen in front of theoretically the entire world. But Pat finds he doesn’t mind. Griffin’s affectionate, touchy-feely and snuggly, and Pat can’t get enough of it. He drinks in Griffin’s touch, his presence, greedy for it in the wake of so much time apart. They talk constantly, they Skype regularly, but being in person makes everything so _real_.

He loves him _endlessly_.

The afternoon and evening fly by in a whirlwind. There are — to put it lightly — a fuckton of goddamn McElroys, and it is a lot to take in. Pat’s bad with names, worse with faces, and even worse than all that when a great deal of the people whose identities he’s trying to memorize bear some amount of familial resemblance. He has a hard time staying grounded, when he’s overwhelmed like this; there are some situations that are almost guaranteed to make him extremely unhelpfully dissociate, and this is one of them.

On top of that, by the time things have started to wind down a little, it becomes apparent to Pat that it seems to be his turn to have miscalculated somewhere along the line, and get a little more tipsy than he’d really intended to. He winds up on the couch tucked against Griffin’s side, with Griffin’s arm around his shoulders, at Pat’s insistence.

“I didn’t realize you were a cuddly drunk,” Griffin says softly, nuzzling his face into Pat’s hair.

“Does it bother you?” Pat says, already starting to pull back, but Griffin holds him tight.

“Not at all.”

Pat hums contentedly and lets himself settle against Griffin again. They’re sitting on a loveseat in the corner, one that had been shoved aside to make room for more chairs, and so it’s a little bit in the shadow of the Christmas tree. Well, if something emitting light could be said to be casting a shadow. The point is, the point is that the tree is the focal point, and not them. 

The other half of the loveseat is where all the miscellaneous throw pillows got piled when they were in the way, so not only do Pat and Griffin have an excuse to be close together, but no one else is up in their space, either. Griffin is lit by the warm golden glow of the lights on the tree, and Pat is enraptured. He could look at him all night.

“Whatcha staring at?” Griffin says, amused.

“You,” Pat says, reaching out to touch his face. Griffin’s smiling. “You’re wonderful.”

“Aww, Pat,” Griffin says, and leans in to press a kiss to Pat’s cheek. “You’re sweet.”

Another of Griffin’s relatives to whom Pat hasn’t managed to attach a name passes by, and pauses to talk to Griffin about something involving something about — something. Pat is absolutely not following, which is probably rude, but he can’t focus between the thrum of voices in the room and Griffin’s thumb rubbing Pat’s shoulder over his shirt and yeah okay he definitely misjudged something along the line because he has officially decided he would like to pull himself together and participate in conversation but he feels too, too, floaty? and he really wishes this person would go away so he could tell Griffin because maybe Griffin will know what to do because Pat sure doesn’t.

Really, he wishes a little bit that everyone would go away, he’s done peopling now, actually, and all he wants to do is cuddle Griffin. But there’s still more night ahead of them, and Pat feels stupid and embarrassed for having taken a nosedive into this weird space of not wanting to be around people and also being a hair closer to drunk than he likes to be when he’s around people and he doesn’t know anyone but Griffin’s immediate family and there’s so many fucking _people_ here —

“Pat?” Griffin says softly, pulling Pat back to reality like a lifeline. He strokes his knuckles against the inside of Pat’s wrist, looking at him with genuine concern. “You okay?”

Pat tries to find a convincing smile to reassure Griffin he’s totally cool, but even Pat knows he doesn’t get anywhere close. He knows Griffin understands; they both get a little keyed-up around groups of people, easily stressed, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel bad about it.

Griffin doesn’t make Pat try and find words for it, though, because he is a saint. “If you wanna sneak off and chill upstairs I’ll cover for you. I probably gotta hang out here still, since we’re doing stuff later with Dad, but it really is okay if you need to go hide out.”

“I’m sorry —” Pat starts, and Griffin squeezes his hand.

“Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry for. Here, how about you head upstairs, and I’ll come bring you some water in a few minutes. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah,” Pat says faintly. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Hey, you made sure I was okay last night, this is the least I can do for you, yeah?”

“It’s not — you don’t gotta pay me back —”

“I know. Don’t worry so much, sweetheart. I promise you it’s okay.”

When Griffin comes upstairs, he has a glass of water, an assortment of snacks that upon inspection reveals itself to be mostly just Chex Mix, and a whole bunch of kisses for Pat. Literal kisses, but also a Hershey’s chocolate kiss that he drops into Pat’s palm to make him smile.

“I have to go back down and be sociable, but you stay here as long as you want, okay? You can go to sleep and not come back down at all, if that’s what you need. I won’t hold it against you,” Griffin says. Pat sighs and wraps his arms around Griffin’s midsection, resting his cheek against him. “I know, baby. I’m sorry. I wanna cuddle too. I’ll come check on you before we head out, okay? And when I’m back you’ll have me all to yourself.”

“But I’ll probably be asleep,” Pat whines, because he apparently has no filter.

“Then you’ll get to wake up to me,” Griffin says. Pat replies with a _hm_ and pushes his face harder against Griffin, who laughs and scritches at Pat’s hair. “Promise promise we’ll have more time together after tomorrow, okay? We can spend the whole day after Christmas snuggling and no one can stop us.”

“That sounds nice,” Pat mumbles into Griffin’s shirt. “I miss you when we’re apart.”

Griffin takes a sharp breath and leans down towards Pat, takes Pat’s face in his hands, strokes his thumb over Pat’s cheek. “Oh, Patrick. Me too,” he says softly. He looks sad. Fuck. Pat didn’t mean to make him sad. Pat lifts his chin to peck Griffin’s lips, wanting to make him smile again. “I love you so much,” Griffin says, and returns Pat’s kiss. When he moves away, he tucks Pat’s hair behind his ear, looking at him with such open almost-sorrowful longing that it makes something deep in Pat’s chest ache.

“I don’t have to stay here if — if you need me down there,” Pat says.

A kiss to Pat’s forehead. “I always need you,” Griffin says, barely more than a whisper, a tight quality to his voice, like he’s suddenly found himself closer to tears than he anticipated. Like he’s just remembered that their days together are ticking away faster than either of them had hoped.

Pat wants to pull him down into this bed and wrap himself around him and never ever leave.

“Sorry,” Griffin says, dragging his hand over his eyes. “Sorry. I — I just —”

“I know,” Pat says. “Me too.” He takes Griffin’s hand in both of his. “I love you so much.” Pause. “Go give Justin hell for telling me you looked like dogshit last night.”

“He did not!”

Oh thank god, he broke the somber mood. They can have this conversation a different time, a better time, when they’re both able to be fully present for it. “He did. I told him to keep his opinions to himself.”

Griffin laughs, that genuine wonderful laugh of his, bringing with it a swoop of relief. “I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“Get ‘im, babe,” Pat says, and Griffin, still laughing, leans in for one more kiss before he takes his leave.

When the door shuts behind him, Pat sighs deeply. He stands to change — cool, still a little dizzy, great — and ends up getting right back into bed wearing nothing but his underwear and a shirt of Griffin’s. Maybe it’s gross that it’s the shirt Griffin wore yesterday, but it smells like him, and Pat is so far beyond caring right now.

He surfaces back to consciousness twice, at Griffin’s reappearances. There’s a soft brush of a kiss to Pat’s cheek what feels like mere minutes after Pat falls asleep; Pat responds with something very articulate like _mmh_ and flails his arm out to touch Griffin wherever his hand lands. Griffin laughs, and kisses Pat’s knuckles.

“We’re going on a walk, okay? I’ll be back soon. Sleep well, baby,” he says, and kisses Pat’s cheek one more time before he, presumably, leaves.

The second time, Griffin is still chilly from the outside air, and apparently has no qualms about burying himself into Patrick’s arms when he gets in bed, even though Pat was fully asleep this time. But Pat pulls him closer, and lets Griffin nuzzle his face into Pat’s neck. His nose is cold, like a puppy, and Pat informs him of this. Griffin snickers, then sniffles, and then presses himself tighter against Pat.

“You ‘kay?”

“Yeah. Just… talked with Dad and Justin and Travis a bunch. Had, like, a feeling. Or a few. As you do.”

“As you do,” Pat echoes back. “Good feelings? Or no.”

“Not bad ones. More like big ones. Talked, uh, talked a lot about Mom, and — y’know, and our stepmom, and Teresa and Sydnee, and — and you.” Griffin seems to hold his breath at this, and Pat doesn’t have the brainpower to construct the right response to this right now, he knows he doesn’t.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like. Y’know. The future and stuff, hah. I mean, uh, not to be, like, too intense after only a few months. Jeez. Just, like, how they sorta realized that they wanted to be with them for — yeah, this is not helping my case.”

“No. Not too intense. Promise. I love you. I wanna be with you as long as you wanna keep me around.”

Griffin says _oh_, very softly. “I feel the same about you,” he whispers.

“Oh, good.”

“For what it’s worth, they like you a lot.”

“Thank god. I don’t think I could take it if they hated me.”

“Aw, Patrick, c’mon. You’re wonderful. Who wouldn’t love you?”

Pat just laughs lightly and shakes his head.

“You’re perfect. I love you. I’ll let you go back to sleep now, baby. Sorry for waking you up.”

“‘S okay,” Pat says, nuzzling his face against Griffin with a contented little sigh. “Love you too, Griffin.”

He falls asleep with Griffin stroking his hair, warm and soft and safe in his arms.

* * *

Griffin’s alarm goes off early enough to leave them plenty of time to put themselves together before they have to go downstairs and participate in more holidaying, which means Pat wakes up to the very relaxing sound of sirens blaring. He groans and shoves his face into Griffin’s shoulder until Griffin makes it shut up.

The two of them are thoroughly tangled together, and Pat is about a half-degree Fahrenheit away from overheating, but he honestly couldn’t care less, because he’s in Griffin’s arms.

“How’re you feelin’?” Griffin says softly.

“Not terrible, surprisingly,” Pat says.

“Oh, good. Maybe we’ll both manage to survive today,” Griffin says, teasing a little, and Pat rolls his eyes.

“I sure hope so. If as many people are gonna be around today as there were yesterday, I’m gonna need you to make me some sort of cheat sheet.”

Griffin laughs. “No, it’s gonna be a lot more low-key. Just us and Trav and Teresa and Dad and stuff. And we don’t even have to go anyplace, ‘cause they’re all coming here on account of Charlie being the only kid and they wanted to have it at home or whatever.”

“I’m sure Justin and Sydnee are loving putting up with everyone coming through their house, god.”

Griffin waves a hand dismissively. “They’re the most centrally located, they’re used to it. It’s all good. Don’t you start feeling all guilty about infringing on hospitality or whatever,” he says, and boops Pat’s nose.

“I wasn’t gonna — okay, okay, maybe I was gonna, shut up.”

“That’s what I thought. Come on, lazybones, let’s get dressed,” Griffin says. Pat grabs at him as he disentangles himself from Pat and the blankets — _nooo you’re warm come baaack_ — but Griffin just laughs at him and yanks the covers all the way off of Pat and then Pat calls him an asshole and leaps out of bed to grab Griffin and wrap his arms around him and growl _gotcha!_ in his ear.

“Yeah you do, baby,” Griffin purrs, leaning back into Pat. “Whatcha gonna do with me?”

Pat nips his earlobe. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“That means you don’t know!”

Pat huffs an exhale — right up next to Griffin’s ear, which makes Griffin shiver — and runs his hand down Griffin’s front to palm at his dick, half-hard from waking. “I do know. I also know we don’t have time to do any of it.”

“Fuck, Patrick,” Griffin says.

“Mm. Wouldn’t you like to?” He grabs Griffin’s cock through his underwear, and Griffin hisses out a breath through his teeth.

“If we both shower at the same time, that — uh — _hnn_ — that means we’ll have more time, right?”

“Not if we’re fooling around, I don’t think,” Pat says, not letting up, Griffin’s hips jerking forward against Pat’s hand. The arm Pat has around Griffin keeps Griffin’s arms pinned to his body, so he can’t really retaliate, can’t do much of anything.

“What d’you call this, then?” Griffin says, and doesn’t quite manage to choke back a moan as Pat shifts his angle a little, works his hand on him with more intent.

Pat hums neutrally instead of answering, reveling in the way Griffin tries to keep quiet and doesn’t do a great job at it, panting and making little broken wanting-sounds at Pat’s touch.

“F-_fuck_ you,” Griffin pants, “if you make me come without taking my underwear off I’m gonna — gonna, _ah — ah, fuck_ —”

“Hmm? What’s that you’re gonna do?”

“Gonna — make you regret it — oh, Christ, Patrick, _please_ —”

“Please, what?”

“Please, I wanna — I’m gonna — Pa-_aat_, c’mon.”

“If I take it off, you’re just gonna get come everywhere. Trying to keep from leaving your, uh, your genetic imprint all over the room.”

“Fucking _gross_, Patrick. And these are new! I like them, you asshole!”

“And now you’re making memories,” Pat says, leaning in to press his mouth to Griffin’s neck. “Come for me, baby.”

It’s a matter of moments before Griffin’s breath hitches into a moan, his head thrown back, as he does just exactly what Pat asked of him. He leans back against Pat, breathing hard.

“Can’t believe you,” Griffin sighs, and Pat laughs. “Smug fucker. I’m gonna get you back. Don’t think I won’t.”

“I look forward to it. Will you —” He stutters to a pause, still unused to asking for things in person, but Griffin looks up at him and gives him an encouraging little nod. “Will you get me off, too?”

“I will. I promise I won’t even retaliate. I’m saving it.”

“Oh _god_.”

“What do you want, sweetheart? Hands, mouth, something else?”

Pat can’t see his face perfectly at this angle, but he knows that Griffin’s smile becomes more of a smirk when Pat’s hips rock forward against his ass.

“I’d like it if you went down on me,” Pat says softly.

Griffin grins, all wiggly excitement now. “Hell yeah! C’mon, hurry up then, if I’m gonna suck your dick before breakfast we gotta get a move on.”

Pat, laughing, lets Griffin haul him off to the ensuite, to get Pat right where he wants him.

The morning is a whirlwind of more festive chaos, just as the entirety of Pat’s tenure in West Virginia has been so far. Pat’s more than happy to sort of fade into the background — everyone else in the room has blood or marital ties to each other, which means that Pat, as Griffin’s boyfriend of not-even-four months, is kind of the odd one out. But, thankfully, Charlie has stolen the show, throwing wrapping paper everywhere and smiling her big charming little-kid smile at everyone, the very definition of adorable.

One of the cats — the one who will actually let people touch her — hops up into Pat’s lap and starts purring when he scritches her ears. The ideal Christmas present. He’d be perfectly happy with this, and only this, but instead he is caught completely off-guard by Griffin passing a present over to him. He looks at Griffin, confused — the two of them were gonna do presents by themselves, later — but Griffin says, “It’s from Trav,” and Pat’s heart does something funny, a sort of somersault of anxiety and surprise and affection.

“I — but I didn’t get you —” Pat stutters, and Travis cuts him off.

“I know, I know, we said we wouldn’t, you didn’t need to,” Travis says, and Pat looks at him helplessly — was he supposed to anticipate that Travis would actually get him something and get something for Travis, what sort of agreement is it if you don’t stick to the agreement — but Travis just smiles at him and gestures for him to open it.

Pat feels his face burning under the attention, and it’s even worse when apparently Justin had done the same thing as Travis, without even collaborating with him, and Pat is now richer one bespoke self-care kit (“Griffin told me you kept trying to steal his lounge pants when he was there the first time, so I thought you might like your own!”) and one backpack (“Justin, oh my god, what all did you hide in here —” “You’re not supposed to give someone a bag without something in it, that’s a _thing_ —”) and he is also so goddamn flustered when anyone does anything kind for him unexpectedly, especially something like this, that all he can do is stutter out thank yous until Charlie recaptures everyone’s attention.

God, he’s so fuckin’ awkward.

Griffin leans against Pat’s shoulder and grins up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me they were getting me stuff?” Pat hisses at him, but Griffin just shrugs, shakes his head.

“I didn’t know. They’re just — y’know, they’re just like this. They like you.”

“Oh,” says Pat, and Griffin pecks his cheek with a quick kiss, and now Pat’s blushing again, but he doesn’t mind so much this time.

All things considered, though, it’s relatively painless as holidays go. Pat’s certainly had less pleasant ones. Griffin sticks to Pat’s side and doesn’t leave Pat to fend for himself too much, but even when he is called away, Griffin’s family is composed of people that Pat already knows and likes. He seems to have made an alright impression on them so far, he thinks. He hopes.

By that evening, the past few days have sort of all blurred together into a candy-cane-colored haze, such that it’s hard to match any specific event to any specific time frame. Going out with Griffin could have been two years ago as much as it was two nights ago.

Everyone who isn’t staying in this house has left by now, not wanting to get caught in whatever the weather forecast portends. Charlie is asleep, Justin and Sydnee are nowhere to be found, and Pat is tangled up with Griffin on the couch, half-watching whatever Hallmark monstrosity Sydnee left playing on the TV. Pat ponders the merits of dozing off against Griffin’s chest as Griffin plays with his hair, until Griffin shifts under him.

“Hey, Pat,” he says softly.

“Mm?”

“It’s snowing.”

Pat pushes himself up so he’s sitting on Griffin’s legs instead of lying on him, and follows his gaze. “Huh. Sure is.”

Griffin looks back at Pat, a spark of excitement in his eyes. “Let’s go make snow angels. C’mon, get off me,” he says, already pushing at Pat and trying to wriggle his legs out from under him.

“I don’t have anything snow-resistant, though?”

“You live in New York? And are from _Maine?”_

“I never said I make good life choices,” Pat grumbles, letting Griffin up by standing himself. Griffin is off like a shot, and Pat trails after him to go get his boots.

Griffin double-checks that the back door is unlocked, grabs Pat’s gloved hand with his own mittened one, and leads him outside. They’d maybe, possibly, dug through the coat closet to find hats and scarves and gloves, but frostbite is a bad look on anyone, so Pat hopes they’ll be forgiven their trespasses.

Pat takes a deep breath and sighs, tilts his head back to look at the snowflakes drifting gently downwards. He’s always liked the quiet of a snowfall, how it seems to make everything hushed, like it’s sleeping beneath the white blanket.

(Or dead and buried, but that wasn’t so pleasant to ponder as a melancholy kid, lying on your back alone in the center of that blank resting-place.)

Something goes _thud_ against Pat’s back, and Pat whips around to see Griffin leaning down, his neck craned up to grin at Pat, already packing together another snowball.

“Oh, you fucker,” Pat says, and Griffin cackles, straightening up to throw the new snowball just as Pat ducks down to make his own, perfectly timed for it to fly harmlessly above him. Pat doesn’t even get the chance to stand up and retaliate, though, because the next thing that makes an impact on Pat is Griffin himself, tackling Pat and knocking them both into the thick layer of snow.

“Gotcha!” Griffin says.

“If I was, like, one percent more of a dick, this snowball and your face would’ve become fast friends by now,” Pat says, and crushes it against the top of Griffin’s hat instead. Griffin makes a sound of outrage, and now it’s Pat’s turn to laugh and sling his arm over Griffin, pushing him into the ground.

“This is a bad snow angel,” Griffin says.

“You started it.”

“I guess so.” Griffin shoves at Pat’s chest until Pat moves. “My pants are all wet,” he whines. “And cold.”

“Again: your own damn fault,” Pat says, kneeling up, then immediately regretting putting his knees into the snow. Griffin stands, and holds out a hand to help Pat to his feet.

“Sorry, baby,” Griffin says, pulling Pat into a hug with his momentum. “I’ll behave.”

“No you fuckin won’t,” Pat says, trudging his way over to an untouched patch of snow, Griffin cackling behind him. He almost flops right down on his back into this blank canvas, and then realizes he would probably injure about seventeen and a half different parts of his body if he just dropped to the ground, so he takes the less-dignified approach of lowering himself more carefully instead.

“What are you doing?”

“Making an unshitty snow angel, thank you,” Pat says. He looks up at Griffin and narrows his eyes. “If you throw snow at me I swear to _god_ —”

“What the fuck are you guys doing out here?” says Justin’s voice, at a distance.

“Finding joy in nature, motherfucker,” Griffin says. “Try it sometime.”

Justin laughs. “Don’t give yourselves frostbite or whatever.”

“Pat’s immune. He’s from Maine. It’s cold there.”

“That doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” Pat says.

Justin shakes his head and shuts the door on them.

It’s quiet outside.

It’s quiet outside, and when Griffin joins Pat on his back in the snow, they’re just close enough that they can hold hands with their arms outstretched.

Looking up at the dark clouds so far away, it’s easy to feel small. The snowflakes fall in little icy pinpricks onto Pat’s face, and everything feels a little bit surreal. Pat squeezes Griffin’s hand. Griffin squeezes back.

“Hey,” says Griffin.

“Hey,” says Pat.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Can we go back inside now?”

“Can’t take the cold?”

“Whatever,” Griffin says. Pat laughs as he stands, as carefully as he can, so as not to ruin the imprint of his body in the snow.

Justin is in the kitchen when they clatter inside, stomping snow off their boots. He shakes his head, fondly exasperated.

“You two are nuts,” he says, brandishing towels at them as they shed layers and half-melted snow. “Don’t drip all over my house.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Griffin says, and Justin snorts.

“Come back down when you’ve changed. I’m making hot chocolate. If you’re nice to me, I might even make something fancy out of it.”

“You are my favorite person in the _entire_ world,” Griffin says. He goes to hug Justin, who shoves him away on account of the cold and the wet.

“Wow, thanks,” Pat says. Griffin blows him a kiss and darts off towards the stairs, leaving Pat to exchange a shrug with Justin, then take off after him.

Pat looks out the window as Griffin is getting ready for bed. Somehow, even with all their mischief, and with the snow still falling, their pair of snow angels are still intact. There are the imprints of their bodies, intersecting where their hands met.

When Griffin returns to the bedroom, Pat pulls him into a kiss — just one, but long and slow and soft — that leaves them both breathless.

“I love you so much,” Pat whispers, and Griffin kisses him again. And again. Again, again, and once more for good measure.

“I love _you_ so much,” Griffin says, and pecks him on the lips. “C’mon, we better get some sleep, we’re flying tomorrow night.”

“Ah, shit,” Pat says. “Remind me again why we decided the overnight flight was a good idea?”

“‘Cause we’re both stupid,” Griffin says, climbing into bed and holding up the covers for Pat to slide in next to him. “At least it’s fuckin’ _warm_ in Texas.”

“Thank god,” Pat mumbles, nuzzling his face against Griffin’s neck. Griffin laughs and hugs him tighter. “I’m excited.”

“Me too,” Griffin says, and kisses the top of Pat’s head. Pat sighs, closing his eyes, and drapes his leg over Griffin’s thigh, to hold him close along his whole body. “Clingy,” Griffin says, a smile in his voice.

“You love it.”

“I do,” Griffin says. “I really do.”

* * *

It’s midmorning on the twenty-seventh when they trudge into Griffin’s apartment, exhausted. Griffin groans as he drops his bags on the floor.

“Fuck _me_,” he says, shaking out his hands.

“Not ‘til I’ve gotten some sleep,” Pat quips back.

Griffin sighs, fondly, and wraps his arms around Pat’s middle. “I love you. I’m so glad I’m home. Let’s order food and then pass out?”

“My dream date,” Pat says, and Griffin laughs.

After having been awake pretty much all night, everything feels kind of weird, out of place, too bright and strange, and it’s all very disconcerting, especially being in a new place that’s unseasonably (well, at least for Pat) warm, and hardly knowing what time it is or what meal it is he’s supposed to be eating. But he’s next to Griffin, and that’s more than good enough for him.

The rest of the day is for napping and for cuddling and for Griffin to slide down Pat’s body and drag his tongue up the shaft of his cock, for Pat to sigh and arch his back and for Griffin to dig his thumbs into Pat’s hipbones and murmur, _stay_, and god, does Pat want to. He sighs _yes_ in response, _yes, yes, yes_ —

He’s sleepy and warm, warm all the way through, and Griffin’s gentle hands and soft mouth feel so fucking good, make sparks flow through his veins, and Griffin makes soft hums and grunts between the slick sounds of his mouth on Pat. Pat moans, long and low, flinging his arm over his forehead, looking down at Griffin from beneath heavy eyelids.

Griffin is looking at him right back, with steady sea-blue eyes that have a smile in them even if his mouth is occupied.

“Fuck, Griffin,” Pat says. “You’re _perfect_.”

Griffin pulls off him, sucks in a breath and says, “No, you,” before he sinks his mouth down on him again.

“_Ah_ — Griff, baby, it’s — it’s not a competition _ohfuck_ please, Christ, that feels so fuckin’ good, oh — oh, _Griffin_,” he moans, as his hips jerk. Griffin holds him with steady hands, and as Pat watches, Griffin’s eyes flutter shut when Pat comes; his throat works as he swallows around him. Pat whines, and Griffin pulls off him slowly, licking the head of Pat’s cock almost affectionately before he moves away.

“Good boy,” Griffin murmurs, and Pat sighs and snuggles up towards Griffin as he settles down next to Pat. “So good for me, sweetheart.”

“Love you,” Pat mumbles, tucking his face against Griffin’s chest, his eyes too heavy to stay open.

“Love you too, Patrick. Want me to wait to get off ‘til you’re done napping?”

“Not napping. Jus’ closing my eyes. ‘N yes.”

Griffin laughs softly. “Okay, baby. Whatever you say.”

“Damn right,” Pat slurs into Griffin’s chest, which makes Griffin laugh more and hug Pat tighter, and press a kiss to the top of Pat’s head.

It’s nice — _so_ nice — to be able to wake up again and nuzzle his face into Griffin’s neck as Griffin giggles at him, complains about his scruff, smooches whatever parts of Pat’s face he can reach. With little preamble, Pat settles himself between Griffin’s thighs to mouth at his dick, messy and uncoordinated and eager, slowly turning Griffin’s laughter into gasps and moans as he gets hard under Pat’s touch.

Griffin threads his fingers into Pat’s hair and rocks his hips a little, so gently, and Pat moans around his cock. He looks up at Griffin’s face, with open desire written across it, and pulls back.

“You can,” he pauses to gather his confidence, “you can, like, fuck my face. If you want.”

“_Christ_,” Griffin bites out, and Pat grins before he swallows Griffin down again. Griffin moans, his hands tightening in Pat’s hair, and he rolls his hips shallowly, like he’s testing what Pat can take. Pat appreciates the slow start, because it’s been a hot minute, but he’s been told he’s good at this, and, well, he intends to make it real good for Griffin.

Griffin’s a talker, especially when he’s worked up, and right now he’s writhing under Pat, Pat’s hand splayed out on Griffin’s hip. Griffin’s face is flushed red and he’s panting and he looks so, so good. Pat can’t believe he gets to see Griffin like this. He doesn’t know what he did, can’t imagine what he did to get to have him like this.

“I can’t imagine what I did to get to have you like this, Patrick, f-_fuck_, baby, your _mouth_ — oh, you’re so good — _nnh_ — god, you look so beautiful, baby, so good with my cock in your mouth, y-_yeah_, oh _shit_ yes just like that fuck yes,” Griffin pants, hips jerking in quick little thrusts, like he doesn’t want to go too hard but _wants to_ go harder, and, well. Pat can show Griffin what he can do. It’s, hah, been a long time since he had much of a gag reflex, and he loves this, loves making a partner fall apart like this, and when he sinks his mouth all the way down, Griffin is shaking all over and swearing and gasping Pat’s name, his hand twisted tight into Pat’s hair.

Griffin doesn’t last much longer than that. He cries out Pat’s name as he comes down Pat’s throat, full-body shuddering as he loses it. When Pat sits up, he drags the back of his hand over his mouth and grins at Griffin, who is flushed and sweaty and staring at Pat in something near awe.

Pat clears his throat before his speaks, but his voice still sounds fucked. “How was that?”

“Oh my god,” Griffin says, tugging on Pat’s arm, and Pat laughs as he crumples beside Griffin. Griffin wraps his arms around Pat and presses fierce little kisses all over his face. “You’re perfect, you asshole, I don’t know how you do it.”

“Mm, well, that one takes practice.”

Griffin rolls his eyes and lightly thwaps Pat on the arm. Pat grins.

“I love you, Griff.”

“I love you too, baby. I’m gonna go take a shower, I think. And we should probably figure out dinner at some point.”

“Ugh, but _moving_.”

“I’ll kiss you a whole bunch if you get up.”

“But you could kiss me a whole bunch right here instead,” Pat points out, moving towards him to demonstrate his point. Griffin laughs and pushes him away, then takes the opportunity to skedaddle out of bed.

“I could! You are very tempting. But I am very gross.”

Pat pouts, but allows himself to be persuaded out of bed with the promise of kisses, and also of being clean and eating food. Simple pleasures or whatever, but Pat doesn’t need much. He wraps his arms around Griffin, and Griffin leans into him with a contented smile.

Pat can’t remember the last time he was this consistently happy for this long. He never wants this to end.

He shoves down the thought of his flight back to New York, already less than a week away, and buries his face in Griffin’s hair instead. He’s determined to memorize all of Griffin’s component parts, from this cozy well-fucked unshowered Griffin to the silly disastrously drunk Griffin of Candlenights to the warm gentle Griffin from their night in the snow to every other permutation of him that Pat has yet to encounter. He loves every part of him. Everything he knows, and everything he hasn’t learned yet.

Every second he spends with him is a gift that he never wants to take for granted.

* * *

Six days is never enough time. It was never going to be; it never will be.

They spend New Year’s Eve with a small group of Griffin’s friends, in Griffin’s apartment, the most low-key possible variety of shenanigans. It’s nice to curl up on the couch and hoard the pretzels with Griffin snuggled up next to him, Griffin’s arm draped around him. The New York City New Year’s nonsense is on the TV, but no one present is really paying attention to it, not until the countdown.

Two seconds ‘til midnight, Griffin pulls Pat in and kisses him soundly, cups Pat’s face in his hands and keeps kissing him until it is well and truly the new year. When Griffin pulls back, he stays close, only a breath away, and Pat can’t take his eyes off Griffin’s.

“Happy New Year, Pat,” Griffin whispers.

“Happy New Year, Griffin,” Pat whispers back, and kisses him again.

Their friends politely abstain from wolf-whistling for about two seconds.

* * *

Pat’s long since been over shoving down his emotions, over being afraid to cry in public, but it’s… it’s a lot, when Griffin takes Pat to the airport the next day. He walks Pat inside, even though there’s technically no reason for him to do so, and really is far more inconvenient for Griffin, but Pat knows perfectly well that both of them want to spend every last possible second with each other, and it wrenches at him — at both of them — that in a matter of minutes he’s going to be walking away from him again, after two perfect weeks of constant togetherness.

So, like, it’s no surprise that Pat’s crying into Griffin’s hair, and that Griffin is crying against the side of Pat’s neck, because they’re both emotional fuckers, but, god, it makes it even harder to let go. To do anything except push his face harder against Griffin, trying frantically to memorize once again the way he smells, the texture of his hair against Pat’s face, the solid steady warmth of him, the way his hands feel on Pat’s back.

Griffin grabs Pat’s face and tilts Pat’s head down to kiss him, again and again and again, like he’s trying to kiss him enough to last through the time they’ll be apart. Griffin’s lips taste salty. Both their faces are wet. Pat has never loved anyone more in his _life_.

They whisper it to each other between kisses, over and over, until they remember themselves and the fact that they’re in a public goddamn place, and settle for one last hug.

“I’ll text you as soon as I land,” Pat says.

“You better,” Griffin says with a watery smile, thumbing tear-tracks off Pat’s face. “I’m gonna miss you.

“Stop it, oh my god, do you want me to cry again?” Pat says, and they both laugh, but it’s shaky. Wistful. “I’m gonna miss you too. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Griffin says, finding Pat’s hand and squeezing it in his. He leans up for one last kiss, chaste and sweet but longing. “Bye, baby. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Griffin,” Pat says, and squeezes Griffin’s hand before he lets go. Then, with his heart in his mouth, he picks up his things, and turns his back on Griffin to go check his bag.

When he looks over his shoulder again, Griffin blows him a kiss.

Griffin stays there in the same place until Pat disappears through security. Pat doesn’t see him leave.

He trudges alone through the airport, looking for his gate, already wishing for Griffin’s hand in his again.

Griffin  
  
Abt to drive home. Miss you already  
  
Miss you too. I’m eating airport pad thai by my self waiting to board lmao  
  
LOL have a good flight  
  
Good news I am not sitting next to any screaming infants so I’m counting that a win  
  
Talk to you when I’m back. I love you so much  
  
Talk to you soon ♥  
  
Soon being like 6 hours I guess  
  
I love you so much too. Thank you for coming. It was so amazing to have you here and at home and I already can’t wait to see you again.  
  
Your phone’s probably already on airplane mode lol so you won’t see this till you land so I’m gonna say more gay shit  
  
I love you, you big sweet nerd, and my life is so much better for having you in it. I’m so lucky to know you and so happy to have you in my life in this way and I don’t think I’ll ever have good enough words to tell you how much you mean to me. So I’ll just keep telling you I love you and hope that somehow it conveys all the things I feel for you. I can’t wait to see you and to kiss you and to hold you again. Safe travels, baby. I’ll talk to you so soon.  
  


* * *

“Hello?

“Hey, Griff.”

“Hi, Pat!”

“I got your texts.” _Sniff_.

“Oh _no_ baby I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to make you cry —”

“No, no, it’s good, I — I just love you a lot. That’s all. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Aww, Patrick! Are you still on the plane?”

“I just walked off of it. I didn’t want to get all teary next to my poor seat neighbor fuckin’ _again_.”

_Laughter_. “You sappy motherfucker.”

“As if you didn’t cry all over me earlier! I probably have your snot in my shirt.”

“Gross, Pat.”

“It’s _your_ snot! Oh no, oh my _god_, the person I just walked gave me the weirdest look I am so sorry, person.”

_Gleeful cackling._

“Shut up.”

_More gleeful cackling_. “You love me.”

_Sigh_. “I do.” _Softer, more gently_. “God, Griffin, you mean the world to me.”

_Breathless silence, for a moment_. “What’d I do to get so lucky as to have you in my life?”

_A shaky laugh_. “I dunno, man. Exist, I think. You’re perfect, baby, and I’m so glad that I met you.”

“I swear to god if one more tear comes out of my eyeballs today I am going to _dehydrate_. Quit being so sweet and let me live!”

“Drink more water. You’ll be fine.”

“Wow, thanks for the sympathy.”

“It is hard to muster some sympathy when you are trying to find the goddamn baggage claim and you’re going to have to stand there for like probably at least a half-hour to get your bag once — oh, thank god, there’s a sign, I’m going in the right direction.”

“_How_ many times have you been at this airport?”

“Look. There’s a lot of fuckin’ people here.”

“And they’re probably all going to the same place!”

“Which is probably why I was going in the right direction.”

“You and your deductive reasoning.”

“_Griffin_.”

“You love me.”

“I sure do. I’ll talk to you when I get home, okay?”

“Okay.” _A kiss sound._

_A blush, inaudible, but clear in the brief pause. A kiss sound in return._

_End call._

**Author's Note:**

> theyre............. In Luv


End file.
